When You Wish Upon a Star
by Mindadarla
Summary: One night, Italy makes a wish for the one thing he wants. It does come true, but not in the way he expected... WARNINGS: mpreg and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is going to be a _wee_ bit silly, but I will try to take this seriously. Then again... it _is_ mpreg... and _who_ takes that seriously? Anyway, enjoy! (Also: the story will be updated _at least _every other Wednesday.)

Italy stood outside on his and Germany's balcony, watching the night. Germany would have been there with him, but the blond nation had a pile of paperwork the size of Mount Everest that Chancellor Angel Merkel demanded he finish _tonight._

Italy sighed and rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony and leaned forward.

Yes, their relationship was awesome. Matter of fact, it was the best it ever had been. Italy always felt as if there was a void somewhere, though. This made the brunette feel somewhat selfish. Germany got up at the crack of five a.m., hung out with Italy until seven p.m., and then worked well past midnight. The Mediterranean nation wondered if Germany felt nothing was ever good enough for him.

Italy began to ponder what he thought to be missing when he yelled very loudly, "A baby! That's what we need!"

Germany pulled open the sliding glass door which separated the balcony and the computer room, in which Germany worked. "Vat?"

Italy jumped, turned around, and blushed. "Nothing!" Italy exclaimed nervously as he waved his hands in front of his face. "Nothing all all!"

Germany gave Italy a strange look, backed his way inside, and slammed the door shut.

Italy turned around and reverted to his original position. "Vee..." He sighed while watching the night sky.

Suddenly, a group of stars streaked across the black sky.

Italy quickly closed his eyes and wished to himself about what he wanted. After the wish was completed, someone said, "'Ey, kid" in a British accent.

Italy's eyes flew wide open. There was a blond man with thick eyebrows and wings dressed in a toga floating in front of him. "Ah! Please don't kill me! I have relatives in your country!"

The blond laughed. "No, ye don't. 'Cuz don't live in any country. I _am_ a country. Er... sort o', anyway."

"Vee... who are you?" Italy asked, now more curious than terrified.

"I'm the Britannia Angel, fer God's sake!" The exclaimed. "An' I 'eard ye say that ye wanted a baby. True er not?"

Italy, smiling widely, nodded.

"A' right." Britannia Angel made a wand appear out o thin air. As he waved the rainbow-flag looking wand, he chanted, much like the fairy godmothers from _Sleeping Beauty_, "Bippity, boppity, boo!" The wand shot out a purplish-white light at Italy and was then gone.

"Well, g' luck t' ye!" Britannia Angel prepared to disappear.

"Wait! Before you go, I have a question!" Italy cried.

Britannia rolled his eyes. "WHAT?"

Italy pointed at he rainbow wand. "Are you gay?"


	2. Chapter 2

A month had passed since Italy had made his wish. It was in the early morning hours of July twenty-first that Italy found out that his wish had been granted... just not in the way he had expected.

Italy and Germany were cuddling in their sleep. Germany woke suddenly, feeling very nauseous. He shoved Italy off him, causing the smaller man to land on the ground face-down. Germany jumped from the bed and, after stepping on Italy, flung open the double-doors of the bathroom, both of which hit Italy.

Italy just laid face-down on the ground, feeling levels of pissed off that he'd never known to exist. He had been: woken up, thrown out of bed, stepped on, and hit with doors. This does _not _make for a very happy Italian man. This pissed off state lasted until he heard Germany vomit into the toilet.

Italy sighed, rolled onto his back, and sat up.

Germany, after throwing up all that was not digested, which was not much, began to retch painfully. After he had finished gagging, reached over the toilet, flushed said toilet, and pushed himself up. He rinsed out his mouth with mouth wash and stumbled back into bed.

Italy stood when he saw Germany turn from the sink. As the blond walked by him, Italy said, "That seemed a bit gross."

Germany rolled his eyes at the smaller man for making such a stupid comment. The blond tumbled into bed and fell asleep.

Italy stood like an idiot in front of the bathroom doors, unsure of what to do next.

Britannia Angel appeared in front of him. "'Ey, kid, 'ow's it goin'?"

Italy sighed. "It's all right. I kind of feel bad since... you know... I don't think the wish worked."

Britannia Angel raised an eyebrow at the small man. "Whaddya mean?"

"Someone told me that people usually get sick at the four week mark. It's been four weeks, and, well, I'm not sick."

Britannia Angel began to laugh hysterically. "D'ya really think I'd knock ye up?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God!" He laughed. "'Oo would subject themselves to that? I knocked up ye're boyfriend... with yer baby, o' course."

Italy gave Britannia Angel a menacing look. "Germany doesn't _like_ surprises! He's going to _kill_ me! And if I'm going down, you're going down with me!" Italy prepared to pounce on Britannia Angel.

"Bippity, boppity, boo!" Britannia Angel made himself disappear.

Italy wanted cry, but, for once in his life, he didn't. He just yelled, "GERMANY!"

Germany flung up in bedroom and glared angirly at the brunette. "WHAT?"

Italy sighed and blurted, "You're pregnant."


	3. Chapter 3

Germany was staring off into space, trying to digest what Italy had said. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. "ITALY!" The blond finally snapped.

"Eeeek!" Italy shrieked. "I'm so sorry! Oh my God! Don't shoot!"

Germany yelled something about how Italy was "such a jackass".

Italy's lower lip quivered. He then covered his face with his hands and began to cry.

Germany immediately felt bad. He took. Sometimes, these two forgot who they were dealing with. "Italy," Germany said softly. "Calm down."

Italy took a few breaths and managed to calm himself. "You don't hate me, do you?"

"Not really." Germany paused for a yawn. The blond uncharacteristically smiled. "Maybe a little. Just a little, though."

Italy laughed and smiled broadly. He then asked, "Are you gonna keep the baby?"

Germany nodded.

"Good," Italy commented. "It'll keep Vatican off my ass."

_Author's Note: _Short chapter is short.


	4. Chapter 4

Germany was about two months pregnant before people started to notice. The first of those to notice was America. Germany was about ten pounds heavier than usual, which, during a chaotic meeting, prompted America to ask Germany why the latter was "such a fat ass." That comment was quickly met with a punch in the face.

As the meeting spiraled farther into Hell, Saudi Arabia threatened everyone with a gun and managed to keep control... for the better part of five minutes.

Iran and Iraq started arguing over oil or some stupid shit like that (whatever-the-fuck caused the Gulf War); America was preaching like a closeted-gay conservative Republican Baptist priest; India, China, and Pakistan were molesting Kashmir; Bangladesh announced that she was starving and required more aid money; Russia was bitch-slapping Latvia from earth to the moon; Syria was slitting her wrists; Sudan bitch-slapped South Sudan; Israel, West Bank, and Gaza Strip were bitch-slapping _each other_; Colombia was selling coke to Holland; and North Korea was threatening everyone with paper mache missiles.

Germany, meanwhile, had fallen asleep during the mayhem. Italy was very panicky. Germany would usually scare everyone (especially Israel) into submission.

Austria poked Italy on the shoulder. "Are you going to wake Germany up?"

Italy shook his head. "He'll probably be cranky. He's been needing to nap frequently and is very upset to be woken. So, no. I don't want to die."

Austria nodded. "Reasonable."

Belarus pounced on Russia. "MARRIAGE!"

Russia punched Belarus in the face, causing Baby Sis to fly backwards. "Go. The. Fuck. Away."

Italy was watching Israel, Gaza Strip, and West Bank bitch-slap each other. Their cheeks were becoming a bright shade of red.

Germany woke suddenly, looked around with a dazed expression on his face, smiled at Italy, and rested his head on Italy's shoulder. In moments, the blond was out like a light.

With horror, Italy and Austria realized something: if Germany was being so cuddly and sweet... the Mayans were right. 2012 is the End of Times.

_Author's Note: No, I am not a believer in the "End of Times" theory. Just thought I'd say that._


	5. Chapter 5

Germany had hit the four month mark (making it October) and had his first ultrasound performed.

Italy was quite excited. Once they were home, Italy put the ultrasound print-out on the fridge. Germany rolled his eyes and did his best to act annoyed. The blond was actually quite happy that Italy did care so much for this under-developed blob of cells.

Germany acted a bit more annoyed with Italy and then went to their to take a nap.

Italy sat on a barstool at the island in the kitchen.

Britannia Angel dropped out of nowhere. "Wazzup?"

"Nothing." Italy smiled contently.

Britannia opened his mouth to say something when the door that led from the kitchen to the yard was banged open. Austria stood in the doorway. "Italy," The disheveled-looking nation began. "I am uncharacteristically apologizing for what is about to happen."

Italy was about to inquire _what_ exactly Austria was apologizing for when the German-speaking nation was literally thrown across the room. He struck his head on a cabinet and was knocked out.

Romano, red with anger, stood where Austria originally had. He was puffing and huffing as if he were the Big Bad Very Attractive Wolf. "You bastard!" Romano yelled. "I'm so pissed off with you! You fuckin' went off and-" He paused when he saw Britannia Angel floating near Italy. He looked at Italy. Then at Britannia Angel. Back at Italy. And again at Britannia. Italy. Britannia. Double-take on Britannia. Italy. Britannia. Romano pointed at Britannia Angel and asked, "What the fuck is he doin' here?"

Spain and Prussia barged in through the door and knocked Romano over "accidentally" (Prussia shoved him.)

"Oh my God! Italy!" Spain exclaimed. "Austria told us what happened! Me and Romano made a deal with the Angel too!" He paused when he saw Britannia Angel. "Is that him? Hey Britannia!"

Italy couldn't resist. He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at Romano. "You're pregnant, Romano?"

Romano jumped up and pointed at Spain. "This guy is."

Prussia made some remark about how Germany was going to be such a fat ass.

Austria woke and asked groggily, "Huh? What?"

Romano threw his hands up. "I'm still pissed off!"

Spain threw his arms around Romano. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's_**_** Note**__: _I've decided on how many chapters this story will have... it is going to be thirteen. So... we're just under half-way done. Please enjoy while you can.

Germany was going out with Austria, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. Their plans were to pick up some larger clothes for Germany (he was really starting to show now) and shop somewhere nice to eat. This outing left Italy home alone and quite depressed. So, he sat on the couch in just his lucky red boxers and ate a large quantity of gelato... which induced a stomach ache and vomiting episode of epic proportions.

The brunette jumped in the shower and cleaned himself up a bit. He next brushed his teeth and flopped into bed.

Suddenly, his cell phone - which was resting on the nightstand - began to go off. The ringtone was "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett (aka: Romano's ringtone.)

Italy rolled over and lifted the phone from the nightstand. "Hey, Romano," He answered.

"So, little bastard, I-" Romano paused for a moment. "Are you all right? You sound horrible. Have you been cryin'?"

"No," Italy sighed. "I just _did_ finish throwing up."

"Too much gelato?" Romano teased.

Italy giggled. "Actually, yes."

Romano went into a fit of full-on laughter. "Oh-ho-ho-ho! You're such a little sugar-addicted bastard!" Romano paused for a moment before continuing, "A-anyway, Spain's out with Frenchy and Sir Awesome. I know Potato Bastard is out with Piano Prick and Mister Cheese And Chocolate and that one little girl. So... you want to go out and eat at Olive Garden... or... something?"

"Sure!" Italy exclaimed. "Come and get me at noon!" Italy disconnected the call.

Italy spruced himself up. At noon exactly, Romano was there.

Italy ran out to Roamno's shiny, yellow FIAT 500, which he still had from its last year of production (1975) and slid into the passenger seat. Both brothers looked at each other.

Romano slammed his head on the steering wheel. "We're wearing the same frickin' shit!"

It was true. Same striped dress shirt. Same black dress pants. Same back leather shoes. Hell, if they were to check, they were probably wearing the same brand of underwear.

Italy threw his hands together happily. "It's no so bad Romano!" He exclaimed.

Romano lifted his head from the steering wheel. With an open palm, he smacked the side of Italy's face. "Shut up." He then drove off.

The entire car ride, Italy held his face and whimpered. Admittedly, Romano had struck Italy pretty hard. Italy's face was turning red.

The brothers Vargas arrived at Olive Garden in twenty-five minutes. They slid out of the car and went inside. This particular Olive Garden was not quite busy so they were seated promptly.

As Italy scoped through the menu, he laughed. "It's funny," He said. "We could make most of this stuff at home."

Romano rolled his eyes and smiled just a bit. In reality, they _could_ make all the food at home. It would probably taste better and would be a helluva lot cheaper. Sometimes, you know, you just have to go out.

The selected what they wanted quickly and, when he came up, told the attractive male server what they wanted. He nodded and said it would be out soon.

Soon was about forty-five minutes.

Italy and Romano dug in. After the first two or three mouthfuls, Italy shoved the plate forward, ditto to Romano.

"This is terrible," Romano muttered.

Italy wiped his mouth with the napkin. "I agree."

Romano stuck his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. "Check please!"


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:**_Hehe... I like the ending to this one. Also: Italy is acting very OOC in this chapter.

It was now November, which put Germany at five months along. The blond had finally decided that he wanted to know the gender of the baby. On the day of the ultrasound, Italy's boss, President Giorgio Napolitano, called for a meeting. The brunette was flaming mad and cussed out Napolitano over the phone.

Germany was visibly upset when told, but tried to remain calm and shrug it off.

"Call Prussia and ask him to go," Italy growled. "I don't want you going by yourself. I don't like that fuckin' doctor. He's an asshole and a pervert. And if Prussia doesn't go, call Romano. And if Romano doesn't want to go, I'll kick his fuckin' ass and he'll still fuckin' go."

Germany was shocked by Italy's speaking manner. The bright-eyed, normally cheery brunette was talking as if he was his brother and life was the worst thing since Rebecca Black and that auto-tuned "Friday" song.

The blond complied with Italy and dialed up Prussia's number. He explained to his older brother the situation and Prussia said that he would bring his awesome ass over.

Italy forcefully kissed Germany. He then flew out the door to his Lamborghini Gallardo that was a gift from Germany that was given to Italy Christmas of 2009. Italy suffered through a three hour long meeting. He was home at 5:00 p.m.

When Italy came in, Prussia was asleep on the couch. Italy shook Prussia until the possibly albino nation woke.

"Huh?" Prussia rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on his shoulders. "What? Oh!" He exclaimed. "Oh, little awesomely cute Italy. What do you need?"

"Where's Germany?" Italy demanded to know.

"Someone's upset. Ha! Anyway, Italy, he's in your room." Prussia grinned. "Have an awesome time." He winked.

Italy rolled his eyes and went to his and Germany's room. Once inside, he hopped into bed with Germany which woke the blond.

Germany sat himself up and rested his back against the headboard. "Hey." He yawned. "How long have you been home?"

"Ten minutes." Italy growled as he stripped down to his boxers. He tossed everything over the side of the bed. "Did you find out what the baby was?"

Germany smiled. "Ja."

"What was it?"

"Guess."

Italy thought about it. He shrugged. "I don't know."

Germany rolled his eyes and scoffed. "You say _I'm _no fun. Anyway, it's a girl."

Italy smiled. A little girl. As Prussia would say, awesome. That's exactly what Italy wanted. "We should name her after that Holocaust girl," Italy suggested. "I forgot her name.

"Annelies Marie?" Germany asked. "Annelies Marie Frank? How could you forget her name?"

"Yeah!" Italy exclaimed. "And I don't know. Anyway, it'll be all the same except her last name'll be Vargas instead of Frank."

Germany thought about it. Truth be told, he liked the name. It was beautiful and honoring an important person in history. And it sounded great. Annelies Marie Vargas. Germany blushed and said, "I like it."

"As Prussia would say, awesome! Now," Italy began. "Let's do it."

And, by do it, Italy meant pull the blanket over their heads and tell ghost stories.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's Note: _**Two updates in one day? My goodness!

It was December twenty-third. Italy and Germany were coming home after a day out. The time was half past two in the afternoon.

Italy unlocked the door and he stepped in. Germany followed close behind. Italy flipped on the light-switch.

Everyone - everyone being Liechtenstein, Switzerland, Austria, Spain, Romano, France, and Prussia - yelled, "Surpise!"

Prussia continued with, "You're adopted, West!"

All nations burst into laughter, even the hard asses (aka: Switzerland.)

Germany didn't like surprise baby-showers. He _really_ didn't like surprise baby-showers that almost induced pre-term labor.

Italy laughed like a Catholic school girl (or a gay Catholic school boy.) Germany glared at his life-partner angrily. "You knew all about this, didn't you?"

"Austria and I actually planned it," said he.

Germany rolled his eyes and called Italy an asshole. Then they started in on the gifts for the baby.

The Bad Touch Trio (Prussia, Spain, and France) pooled their money together and purchased a crib and a bassinet (Prussia also gave them a shirt that read "Mein Onkel is genial", which, in German, means "My Uncle is awesome.") There was also €300 given by France.

Switzerland's gift was a €550 trust fund set up in a bank in Bern.

Liechtenstein's gift was two hand-maid dresses, one of which looked suspiciously like her old one, just with sleeves that went down to the elbow. Germany looked at her funny for this. She simply blushed and smiled sweetly.

Austria completely forgot about the baby-shower that he had helped plan, so he slid €100 to Germany.

Finally, Spain and Romano gave Annelies a pink-and-purple carseat.

After all the present unwrapping was finished, everyone went from the dining room to the living room. All the nations sat there and talked and had a good time.

Italy excused himself to use the restroom. After he finished peeing and turned from the toilet, Britannia Angel was floating there like it was not strange that an angel was watching a grown man-nation with fully-formed genitals urinate.

"What in the fuckin' Holy Roman Empire are you doing in my bathroom?" Italy cried. "I thought you were some psycho killer!"

Britannia Angel laughed. "I wanted to see how you were doing and how the baby-shower was goin'."

"No," Italy said as he shook his head. "_you_ wanted to check _my_ urine flow."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** _Miss Mindadarla_ is back!

It was Valentines Day. Italy wanted to do something very special for Germany, who was now eight months along.

Italy, for once in his lifetime, rose early to think of things for Germany and him to do.

Sex, of course, one of them. Who doesn't get laid on Valentines Day?

Once Italy entered the dining room, he thought of making breakfast. And making lunch. And dinner. And dessert. And love. He continued to muse, none other than Britannia Angel, Italy's own personal nightmare, appeared in front of the brunette.

"'Ey, kid, 'ow's Valentin e's been treatin' ye?" The winged Brit asked.

"It's six in the morning," Italy informed the angel as he rummaged through the cupboard."How do you think it's been?"

"Whoa-ho-ho-ho!" Britannia held out his hands. "Somebody's grumpy t'day!"

"You are the stupid-head who caused my mood to go bad."

"D' ye want m' t' leave?" Britannia asked in a serious tone.

Italy gave a plastic yet award-winning smile. "Please."

With a poof, Britannia was gone.

Italy got to work making Germany's breakfast. It was simple and sweet: heart-shaped pancakes with whipped cream, topped off with half a strawberry. There were six pancakes in total and Italy prayed to whatever sort of higher power there was that Germany would like this dish.

Italy dug through their very disorganized cupboards for a tray he could place the food on.

After some terrier-like digging and some very loud pot-clanging, Italy found the tray he was searching for. He placed the little white plate which the pancakes rested upon on the tray.

The soon-to-be father ran to the fridge to retrieve the orange juice and sat the bottle beside the tray. Italy next got a tall glass from the glassware cabinet and filled it three-fourths of the wa.

While walking to the bedroom, Italy pulled out the silverware drawer and grabbed a butter knife and a fork. He continued to the room.

The Italian quietly opened the door and walked in. Germany was sitting up in bed, trying to shake off his sleepy haze.

Italy brought the tray to Germany. The blond smiled as it was set in his hands.

"Happy Valentines Day!" Italy whispered into his blond partner's ear. He quickly kissed Germany's cheek and crawled over Germany's legs and back into bed with him.

Italy leaned against the headboard and glanced to his right. His iPhone 5 sat on the nightstand with FaceBook open. 22 new notifications, five unread messages, and three new friend brunette reached over and lifted his phone and gently touched the friend request bubble.

All three were camera whores.

Ignore.

Ignore.

_Ignore._

Italy turned toward Germany. The blond was setting his tray on the his nightstand. While Germany teetered off the edge, Italy kept a tight grip on Germany's black muscle shirt to prevent the blond from falling off.

Very unsteadily, Germany laid back onto the bed, which squished Italy hand. The brunette released a girlish squeak and yanked his hand out from under Germany.

Germany, shockingly oblivious to the situation, smiled and rested his head on Italy's shoulder.

"You have whipped cream on your lip."

Germany went to wipe the cream from his upper lip. In one second, Germany found that both of his arms were pinned down at the wrists and Italy was atop him in an odd position (Germany's belly was in the way) and was grinning in a very lustful manner. Italy quickly crushed their lips together.

"There," Italy said, resuming his strange position, praying that he did not crush baby Annelies. "Got it."

Germany leered at Italy. And, well, things went from there.

In three hours, the two had sex nine times.

Germany was half-asleep and snuggled against Italy.

Italy was stunned out of his mind and staring up at the ceiling. He had never been more awake in his life than this moment.

Suddenly, the brunette's iPhone began to ring. The ringtone was "We No Speak Americano" aka Romano's song.

Italy, still staring up at the ceiling, lifted his phone off the nightstand. "Hello?"

"I-Italy..." Romano was sobbing and sniffling.

That stunned Italy out of his sex-haze. "Romano? What's wrong?"

Before his heavy sobbing resumed, "It's Spain."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note: **_Uck... drama chapter.

"It's Spain."

"What's wrong with him?" Italy asked urgently.

Romano choked down a sob. "H-his water broke. Th-they're d-doing a c-s-s-section."

Italy sighed with relief. "Why are you crying then?" The Italian exclaimed happily. "This is wonderful! You're going to be a Papà, Romano! A _P__apà!_" Italy's heart skipped a few beats. He was going to be a _zio—_an uncle.

The soon-to-be-uncle heard a voice speaking in hushed tones to Romano.

The man-in-question went into hysterics, screaming at the muffled voice, "You bastard! I'm gonna kill you! You hear that? _Kill you_!"

Italy jumped at the sound of Romano's shrilling. "What's wrong?"

There was a solid smack, skin-to-skin, and a door slammed loudly.

Romano, replying to Italy question, shrieked into the phone, "_Non sono lasciarmi andare con la Spagna_!" ("They aren't letting me go in with Spain!")

"They probably fear your... ah..." Italy knew to tread with caution. One wrong word, one slip-up, Romano would reach through the phone, strangle Italy, and violate rigor mortis body's curl. No one was going to violate his curl. Except for Germany (which wasn't violation because Italy consented) and France, which, in France's cause, wasn't _technically _violation, because Italy never explicitly stated that he didn't want it. Italy found the right word, "_Reaction._"

"My _reaction_!" Romano snapped back at his younger brother. "What damn _reaction_? Do you fucking think I over-goddamn-react? When have you _ever,_ in blue fuck or pink shit, have you seen me over-goddamn-react?"

To avoid a big "over-goddamn-reaction", Italy did not respond to the question. He only said, in an unaturally quiet tone, "We'll be up in a few, okay, big brother?"

Romano sighed. "All right."

Italy smiled and said in his normally peppy tone, "_Arrivederci_!" ("Goodbye!")

"_Arrivederci,_" Romano grumbled before putting disconnecting the call.

"What was that about?" Germany asked as Italy sat the phone on his nightstand.

Italy smiled and grabbed Germany's hand. "You won't believe it! We're gonna be uncles, Ludwig! _Uncles_! On Valentines Day! Best Valentines Day of my life!"

Germany smiled slightly. "Wonderful."

"Come on, Germany!" Italy cried as he leapt from the bed. "Time to put your big-boy pants on! We've gotta a niece and or nephew to go see!"

_oOoOoOoOo_

After arriving at the hospital wearing their big-boy pants, they found Romano in the waiting room. Once the normally grumpy man caught sight of his brother and brother-in-law (well... his brother's _partner_ according to the German civil partnership law), his face broke into a grin.

"Oh, no!" Italy cried at the sight of Romano's smile. "What have you done with my brother, you big meany?" Italy next slapped Romano's right facial cheek very hard. The slap was heard all across the hospital.

"I am in such a good mood right now," Romano began. "That smack could not even ruin it, little bastard."

Italy blushed a cherry shade of red. "Sorry, big brother." Italy's eyes lit up. "So, did Spain have the baby?"

"Yeah," Romano said as he chewed one of his nails. "A boy. We named him José Andrea Vargas Fernández."

Germany was stunned by the name. It was quite strange, just to be blunt. "Why would you give a boy the name Andrea? And why does he have the double-surname?"

Romano flushed and stomped his foot. "Andrea is a boy's name in Italy and that's how you name a child in Spain. You get a paternal last name and a maternal last name," Romano growled.

"Let's go see the baby!" Italy exclaimed as he began dragging his brother and life-partner by the sleeves of their shirts out of the waiting room and down a hall.

"Spain's room is the other way, dammit!"

Italy spun around on his heels, keeping a tight grip on the sleeves of his two most loved people-nation-thingies. "Thanks, Romano!"

After a few more wrong turns and a lot more of a screaming Romano, the trio made it to Spain's room. Spain was half-awake and holding the baby.

"_Te amo, Pepe,_" Spain said to his sleeping son. ("I love you, Pepe.")

"What is a 'pepe'?" Italy blurted.

"Well," Spain began. "He _was _supposed to be Tomato, but Romano didn't like it. So, we had to name him José Andrea. We're going to calm him Pepe, though. It's not as good as _Tomato_, but it's better than José Andrea."

Romano closed his eyes, shook his head, and grumbled under his breath. Spain was being impossible. What dumbass would want to name a baby _Tomato_? That's a fucking _vegetable_, not a suitable name for a child.

"He has a lot of hair," Germany pointed out.

Pepe did have quite a good amount of hair. It was a dark, rich color, much like Spain's. It was very wavy, too.

"Yeah," Spain said, smiling par usual. He snuggled Pepe closer. "He is pretty cute, too. And he's the personification of Madrid."

"Oooooooh! How'd you find that out?" Italy was giddy to know.

"All a' Madrid started partying," Romano replied. "Not like that's unusual."

Italy laughed. Germany gave a slight smile. Romano's statement was entertaining because it was the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

The four stood in the room and chatted about Pepe and other things for about an hour (but mostly, they talked about Pepe) before Germany told Italy his feet were hurting and the odd couple booked it.

"Adiós, Pepe!" Italy told his no longer sleeping nephew as he left just to show-off his knowledge of remedial Spanish.

Once back at home, Italy and Germany went straight to the bedroom. Germany needed a foot massage terribly.

"_Just _a foot massage," Germany warned as Italy settled by Germany's feet at the foot of the bed. "I've had enough sex."

Italy sighed sadly as he rubbed Germany's foot. "All right."

"That was pretty amazing sex, though."

Italy looked quizzically at his partner. "Really?"

Germany nodded with a grin on his face. "You're far from a sex-god, but it was pretty good."

Italy rolled his eyes and replied in a very sassy manner, "Not everyone can be like your brother, Germany."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note: **_This was a dream I had. Thought I'd just throw it in.

Germany and Italy laid on their bed snuggled closely to each other. The cuddling was difficult to do, considering the size of Germany's stomach. The blond's abdominal region could have been its own continent.

Germany was in a dead sleep, while Italy was three-fourths of the way down when _he _appeared.

"'Ey, kid," The devil known as Britannia Angel said. "Wut th' fucks up? I've been tryin' t' see how ye 're doing, but ye ain't been 'ome 'nuff."

"Well, Mr. Angel, I was almost asleep until you burst in." Italy snuggled closer to Germany's warm body. The house was fucking freezing.

"Oh, yeah!" Britannia Angel exclaimed out of the blue, causing Germany's eyes to lazily open for a moment. The pregnant nation closed them quickly. He was too tired for this bullshit. Britannia continued, "I should t'll ye that I turned on ya a'r conditionin'."

Italy stared at the floating asshole with the most pissed off look imaginable. "It is the first of March," he growled. "Why would you turn on the AC?"

Britannia thought for a few moments, his tiny brain trying to come up with an excuse. "It was... cold?"

Italy narrowed his eyes and pointed at the door. "Get the fuck out. _Now._"

"B—"

"NOW!" Italy hollered, picking up _Twilight _and chucking it, as hard as he possibly could, at Britannia's stupid face.

The winged-angel-ex-nation thing vanished.

"_You_ _know_," Italy thought to himself. "_I could have handled that in a more 'adultly manner. I just could have said 'Hail Satan'._"


	12. Chapter 12

Italy paced in the waiting room. He had been booted out to this white dungeon after Germany threatened to slit the brunette's throat.

Spain, Romano, and little Pepe were also there with the personification. Spain kept squeezing Pepe against his chest (which Pepe seemed to enjoy) and Romano grumbled about how the only thing in the waiting room to read were trashy magazines for horny forty-year old women who don't get "it" anymore.

"Little bastard," Romano began. "Will you calm down?"

Italy mumbled to himself. He was being too intense, too un-Italy-like. It frightened everyone. Except Germany and Annelies. But Germany was delivering a child out of his... uh... newly developed female-like orifice and Annelies wasn't even born yet, so I guess they don't count. Still, it fucking freaked out everyone.

The worried Italian paced until a nurse came to retrieve them and take them to Germany and the ten-minute old Annelies.

Italy sat beside Germany on the shitty hospital bed and stared at the beautiful little girl. She was blond, with the typical watery baby blue eyes. She had the classic Vargas curl on the right side of her head.

"Oh, Ger—Ludwig, I'm so happy!" The Italian cried, jumping off the bed and zipping around the white hospital room. "I'm going to tell everybody! Ev-er-ree-bod-dee! Everybody, Germany! Everybody's gonna know about Anna! Everybody! Everybody!" Italy echoed.

"It's Anne," said the blond. "Not Anna."

"I'm calling her Anna anyway!" Italy exclaimed. "It's the Italian version of Anne! And it's cuter!" The Italian proceeded to sing, "Anna! Oh, my sweet Anna! You have blonde hair! Like a banana! You have blue eyes! They're pretty, unlike flies! You have a little curl! I hope it's not what I think it's for! Otherwise, I'll hurl! Oh, Anna! Oh, Anna! Oooooooooooooh, Annnnnnnnnnn-AH!" Italian bowed after his dancing and singing performance.

Spain clapped awkwardly, do to Pepe being in his arms. Pepe smiled slightly. Those two idiots were the only amused ones.

Germany stared at his partner and shook his head.

"Germany," Italy warned. "If you didn't like my song, I'll just have to sing it again!"

"Oh, Gott," Germany said, annoyed. The blond rolled his eyes.

"Anna! Oh, An—"

A nurse opened the room's door popped her head in. "I would advise you to shut your trap." She pulled back out and shut the door.

Romano pointed at Italy. "Haha, little bastard! You have been served!" The other brother took a step back, tripped, and landed on his rear.

Italy grinned maniacally. "Guess who else just got served?"

Romano pushed himself off the ground. "Fuck off."

Italy was about to began another song, "Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhh Romano! You a—"

The bitch-nurse from earlier popped in. "No more singing!"

_**Author's Note: **_I want to write a fic with singing Italy. I think he's my new favorite. Also: only one more chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note: **_Sorry for the wait and for how short this is. Anyway, there will be a spin-off to this called _Pepe Has Two Papas. _It'll be submitted sometime in May.

Two week old Anne slept very quietly. The only thing that allowed anyone to know that she was not a doll was the small rise-and-all of her chest. Her incredibly proud parents stared down other.

Italy reached his hand down into the Baby Berlin's crib and stroked her hair. She didn't move.

"Anna is a heavy sleeper, no?" Italy smiled happily as he watched the blonde baby do absolutely nothing.

Of course, he was not one for it, but Germany smiled ever so slightly at his daughter. _"God," _thought the man, _"I've gone soft." _What would Prussia think of this new development? Maybe he'd get knocked up next. Then no one would be laughing.

Whatever would happen next, it didn't matter. Germany had his wacky little family. He knew he would love them for a billion years and no one would ever take them from him.

Not even in a billion years.


End file.
